by Lori Wilde
Leaning down, he breathed in the cool autumn air as the setting sun glowed on the horizon. His gaze took in the large red barn and stable at the other end of the yard, along with the machine shed. Across the road, their horses grazed peacefully in the pasture as a mockingbird sang in the distance.
All those months in prison and he had missed this place the most.
Nick sighed as he walked back to the mirror. He knew he couldn’t stay with Grandma Hattie forever. This visit had already extended beyond his original intentions. Maybe he needed to take his own advice and get on with his life. Look for an apartment. Another job. A remote control with a mute button.
Because if he had to listen to one more song from Oklahoma, he was going to take his Glock 9mm out of retirement and shoot the television set.
Not that living with Grandma Hattie didn’t have its advantages. He loved her cooking and her company. Enjoyed working with the horses and tinkering with her car. But when he caught himself humming “Surrey with the Fringe on Top,” he knew it was time to start looking for a place of his own. A very cheap place.
He had to admit he’d miss her—and her delicious blackberry cordial. Even if she did periodically drive him crazy.
Because she also loved him unconditionally.
She had been too torn apart by her husband’s death a year and a half ago to even comprehend the events surrounding Nick’s arrest and conviction. She’d always just accepted his vague explanation of making a few mistakes.
She’d never criticized or shamed him, just offered her unending support and a promise that she’d be waiting for him when he got out. She’d also sent two dozen home-baked cookies every week, making him the most popular guy on his cell block.
Her unquestioning acceptance of his confession of the crime sometimes made him wonder if she suspected the real truth, but didn’t want to face it. Prison had given him ample time to go over the event that changed his life forever.
To wonder what would possess his grandfather, a highly respected former chief of police, to steal those drugs from the evidence room at the police station. He’d come up with dozens of scenarios, but none of them made sense. And now, almost two years later, he still had more questions than answers.
Finally satisfied with the bow tie, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. The tux fit well enough, the black lapels neatly pressed and in stark contrast to the crisp white pleated dress shirt. He looked like the maître d' at Rawling’s Prime Steakhouse & Wine Bar. Maybe that’s where Lucy planned to take him for dinner. Maybe they’d have a job opening.
The last time he’d dined at Rawling’s had been at his grandfather’s retirement party a year and a half ago. The Pine City Police Department had spared no expense to celebrate the exemplary twenty-five-year career of Police Chief Henry Holden. He died a month later with his reputation and his secrets still intact.
Nick intended to keep it that way.
“Don’t you look handsome,” Hattie exclaimed as he descended the staircase that led into the spacious living room. “And wait until you see Lucy.” His grandmother swept one arm toward the stone fireplace, where Lucy stood studying the framed photographs on the mantel.
“Isn’t she a dream, Nick?”
More like his worst nightmare. Then she turned and smiled at him, and his heart stopped beating for one paralyzing moment.
What happened to his librarian?
Her honey-blond hair swept down in gentle waves around her shoulders, framing her face and deceptively innocent smile. A shimmering ice-blue cocktail dress clung to her slender figure, revealing surprisingly seductive curves in all the right places, curves that caught and held his attention longer than good manners or political correctness allowed.
But Nick couldn’t help himself. She looked delicious and wanton and more dangerous than she ever had before.
“Isn’t she, Nick?” Hattie asked.
He swallowed. “Isn’t she…what?”
“A dream,” Hattie insisted.
He nodded. A dream. He was dreaming. That had to be it. Or delusional. That hair spray she gassed him with last Monday probably wasn’t hair spray at all, but some toxic, slow-acting nerve agent. He closed his eyes. Remember the hair spray, he told himself. The peanut butter. The other disasters. Lucy Moore could lead him to hell with just one crook of her little finger.
He opened his eyes and breathed again. After tonight, he’d never see her again. After he told her about the overwhelming amount of evidence confirming Mad Dog’s guilt, she’d never want to see him again.
“Hold still, dear,” Hattie said, reaching up to straighten his tie. “There. Perfect. Now go stand next to Lucy. I want to take a picture of the two of you.”
“This isn’t the prom, Grandma,” he protested. “And I’m sure Lucy made reservations. We don’t want to be late.”
“Don’t worry,” Lucy said. “We have plenty of time.”
“Lucy, scoot over closer to Nick,” Hattie ordered, pulling the 35mm camera out of the case. “Nick, relax. You look like you’re facing a firing squad. Lucy, hook your arm through his. That’s right. Now stand a little closer together. Closer…” Hattie held the viewfinder up to her eye. “All right, everybody, smile! Say…spaghetti with meatballs.”
“Take off the lens cap first,” Nick advised.
She removed the lens cap and then frowned down at the 35mm camera in her hands. “It seems like I’m forgetting something else.”
“Film?” Lucy guessed.
“Batteries?” Nick asked, checking his watch. “Just use the camera on your cell phone.”
Hattie snapped her fingers. “Oh, I remember now. Goodness, how could we forget? Nick, go into the kitchen and get Lucy’s corsage.”
“Corsage?” he echoed.
“Yes, dear,” Hattie said with a sly wink in his direction. “The corsage you ordered from the florist this afternoon. It arrived while you were picking up your tux, so I put it in the refrigerator for safekeeping.”
“A corsage!” Lucy clasped her hands together. “Oh, Nick, you shouldn’t have.”
She was right. He shouldn’t have. In fact, he hadn’t. But he couldn’t very well admit that now. Not with Lucy looking at him like that, flushed with pleasure. His grandmother, however, would have some explaining to do when he got home tonight.
But first he needed to figure out how to pin the delicate pink rose corsage on Lucy’s dress without actually touching her. He stood close to her, his head bent as he tried to pin on the flower, resisting the urge to look down her dress. Her silky hair brushed against his cheek and his fingers kept grazing the soft, warm skin beneath her collarbone as he fumbled with the pin, jabbing himself three times.
“Got it,” he said at last, stepping away from her so fast, he tripped over the woven kindling basket next to the fireplace.
“Smile,” Hattie chimed, snapping the picture just as he fell at Lucy’s feet.
And it wasn’t even a Monday.
Lucy’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as she drove through downtown Pine City and fumed silently.
Three days.
Three whole days without a word from him about the investigation. Nick sat in the passenger seat beside her, quiet, aloof.
Already she could read him as well as any book. He was shutting her out of the case. Making her stay put while he continued to search for clues without her.
The aromatic scent of the corsage weakened her outrage. It almost made her feel guilty about pretending to take him out for dinner. How did he know pink roses were her favorite? She’d never expected it, especially from Nick. He didn’t seem like the romantic type.
He did, however, seem like the irritating type. The strong, silent, let-me-handle-everything type. The type who didn’t bother to tell her he used to be a cop. A dirty cop. She still couldn’t believe it. He seemed so noble. So forthright. So annoyingly honest.
Nick might not be a cop anymore, but he acted like a cop, thought like a cop. And if he thought he could
exclude her from this investigation, then she was more determined than ever to prove him wrong.
“We’re here,” she announced, pulling into the crowded parking lot and cutting the engine.
Nick peered through the windshield at Pine City’s new civic auditorium, a gleaming brick-and-steel structure bathed in the numerous spotlights scattered over the manicured grounds. “I see that. The only question is why? I thought you were taking me out for dinner.”
“Just stay close behind me and follow my lead,” she said, hopping out of the car before he could question her further.
“Lucy!”
But she just kept walking, hearing Nick’s muttered curses and hurried footsteps echoing behind her. Her heart raced in her chest as she approached the front entrance. She’d never done anything like this before in her life.
It was calculated. Conniving. Simply wonderful.
She took a deep, calming breath and assessed the situation. A grim Jeeves at twelve o’clock, checking the invitations of the guests as they filed through the door. Security guard at two o’clock. He was well armed, but pudgy, and had to be at least sixty years old. Lucy was almost certain she and Nick could outrun him if it became necessary.
She ascended the first two steps, ready to put her plan into action, when Nick grasped her by the elbow.
“Do you mind telling me what’s going on?”
Lucy shook her head. “Not now. They’ll get suspicious. Just play along.” She slipped out of his grasp and moved up to the top step.
“Your invitation, madam?” the doorman requested, holding out one white-gloved hand.
“Of course,” Lucy said, reaching into her beaded purse. She pulled out a card of ivory parchment and handed it to the doorman. Her pulse pounded as he looked at it.
“Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Van Whipple,” he read aloud, then began checking his invitation list.
“That’s right. And what is your name?”
“Alfred, ma’am,” he murmured, his gray brow furrowed as his gaze moved up and down the list.
“Alfred.” Lucy turned to Nick with a bright, phony smile. “Remember that name, Reggie. We’ll want to tell Letitia how fortunate she is to have such a competent man on staff.” She leaned forward, resting her hand on Alfred’s forearm. “Reggie and I just flew in from Palm Springs. It was an exhausting trip, but we just couldn’t let Letitia down. And it is all for charity.”
“Yes, of course…” Alfred muttered. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Van Whipple, but I can’t seem to find your name on Mrs. Beaumont’s list.”
“Oh, dear, we simply must be there. We’re always invited to all the best parties. Dear Letitia and I go way back. Did she ever tell you the story of how we first met nine years ago? It was March third, a rainy Friday…” she began, eliciting impatient groans from the gathering crowd behind them.
“Perhaps the omission was just an oversight,” Alfred said. “After all, you do have an invitation.”
“Indeed, we do,” Lucy said, her knees weak with relief. “Reginald, tip this darling man.”
Nick looked at her. “What?”
“A tip, darling.” Would it kill him to help her out a little here? “Just a little something to show Alfred our appreciation.”
Nick reached for his wallet. “Anything for you, my darling Cruella. But all I’ve got is a twenty.”
“Very good, sir,” the doorman said, neatly plucking the bill out of Nick’s hand. “Please enjoy your evening.”
Lucy sailed into the ballroom foyer. She pulled a stem from a large vase of white carnations while she waited for Nick, snapping off the blossom with her fingernail.
“That was quite a performance, Mrs. Van Whipple,” Nick said, joining her. “What do you do for an encore?”
She stuck the carnation in the buttonhole on his lapel. “I dance,” she replied, pulling him onto the ballroom floor before he could protest.
“So who are the Van Whipples?” he asked as he circled his arm around her waist, clasping her hand in his.
Lucy smiled up at him. “We are, for tonight anyway. Mr. and Mrs. Van Whipple are the lead characters in one of my favorite mystery novels, High Society Sleuths.” Then she scowled. “And her name is Penelope, not Cruella.”
“My mistake.” He skillfully maneuvered them around an elderly couple performing an impromptu tango.
“So how exactly did Reginald and Penelope get an invitation to this shindig?”
“We’re crashing. The Beaumonts do a lot of charity work, and tonight they’re hosting a fundraiser for the Friends of Pine City Association. Letitia Beaumont also heads the Heritage Library Foundation. She often uses the library staff for personal business, so I wasn’t surprised when she asked me to address the invitations.”
“Enter the Van Whipples.”
“Only because I couldn’t afford the one-thousand-per-plate donation needed to finagle an invitation.”
He whistled low. “A thousand dollars per plate? Must be some great food.” Then he looked at her. “Don’t you feel the least bit guilty, Mrs. Van Whipple, for enjoying a dinner you don’t intend to pay for?”
“Don’t worry,” she told him, nestling her head against his sturdy shoulder as they swayed to the slow, languorous music. “I intend to contribute something.”
She closed her eyes, aware of the pressure of his broad hand on the small of her back. No harm in enjoying a brief respite from their mission while waiting for phase two to begin, she thought to herself as they floated across the dance floor. No harm in pretending to enjoy Nick’s arms around her, either. Or the bulge of muscles beneath her fingertips. Reminding her of his strength. His power. His endurance.
“Ouch,” he exclaimed as she missed a step, grinding the spiked heel of her shoe into his foot.
“Oops, sorry,” Lucy apologized, embarrassed at her lack of coordination. Reginald Van Whipple never complained about a little discomfort. Even when his wife accidentally shot him in the leg, mistaking him for the villain. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “Just promise me that Reginald doesn’t suffer some horrible, torturous death before the story ends.”
“Of course not. You worry too much,” Lucy murmured next to his ear. “Relax. Trust me.”
“Said the spider to the fly.”
She didn’t understand his cynicism. They’d made it through the door. Now they could enjoy the party until it was time to put her plan into action. “Maybe I just want to show you a good time. Maybe I thought you could make some connections here that might benefit the case.”
“Listen, Lucy. We need to talk about the case.”
“I agree,” she said. “You’ve been shutting me out of the investigation, Nick. I’m intelligent, resourceful. All I want is a little respect.”
“I do respect you,” he said softly against her ear. “As a librarian. You are not, however, Penelope Van Whipple, high society sleuth. And you don’t seem to realize that all these silly games of yours could lead to serious trouble.”
“I know this isn’t a game,” she replied. “My brother’s future is at stake. I may be all that stands between his freedom and twenty years in the state pen.”
“So do you mind telling me how crashing this party to sip champagne and dance the night away accomplishes that?”
“Not at all,” she said. “My instincts tell me Vanessa knows something about the fire. But we need to get close to her to find out.”
“Vanessa Beaumont? The current owner of the Hanover Building?”
Lucy nodded. “She financed Melvin’s purchase and renovation of the building. According to the contract, if he missed more than two payments, an option clause allowed the ownership to revert to her.”
“So while Mad Dog sits in jail awaiting his trial, Vanessa exercised the option clause,” Nick deduced. “Not a very understanding girlfriend, is she?”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Lucy clarified. “She broke up with him after his arrest. Vanessa isn’t exactly the loyal type.”
<
br /> “How did they ever get together in the first place?”
She sighed. “They met at a literacy reception at the Heritage Library. Letitia brought Vanessa and I invited Melvin. Unfortunately, he’s attracted to thin, gorgeous, and shallow.”
“And Vanessa’s here tonight?” he asked, looking eagerly around the room. A little too eagerly in Lucy’s opinion.
“Yes.”
“So why not just give Vanessa a call and ask to talk about the case?”
“I tried that already.”
“And?”
“And she said no. We’re not exactly in the same social circle.”
“So you’re hoping that rubbing sequined elbows together tonight might convince her to open up?”
“Of course not. I’m hoping my donation will convince her.”
Nick raised a brow. “I was under the impression you don’t have much money.”
“I don’t. But I’m not donating money.”
“What then?”
She grabbed his hand, pulling him off the dance floor. He still didn’t seem ready to join in the spirit of the occasion. Maybe he was hungry. “Shall we help ourselves to the appetizers?”
“Not until you finish answering my questions.”
“They have shrimp cocktail. And I think I saw some buffalo wings.”
“Lucy…”
“Or a vegetable tray if you’re trying to stay in shape. Did I mention how nice you look in your tux?”
“Thank you. Did I mention how good you are at evasion?”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
She looked wistfully over at the crowded buffet table. “Why don’t we finish this discussion after we eat?”
6
The squeal of a microphone forestalled his reply as a portly gentleman in a white tie and tails stepped onto the raised platform in the center of the room.
Just in time.
Nick moved a step closer to her, his tone softening. “Why are you afraid to tell me about your donation, Lucy? Is it…I mean, there’s nothing…illegal about it, is there?” She blinked up at him in surprise. “Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?”
